A New Type of World
by CamisadoCat
Summary: After a malfunction while haring through the skies of earth, the Doctor finds himself stuck in a forest which is teeming with felines! How will he cope with this abrupt change? He can't leave, and somehow, he's shifted into a brown tabby! And even though all reigns well in the forest, more dangerous threats lurk in the shadows of the woodland.
1. Chapter 1

The moon shone proudly above the thickly leaved woodlands flanking the glistening lake. Protruding light bounced off the body of water's elegant surface, casting a brilliant light that even reached hundreds of feet into the open, starry band of the sky.

Suddenly, breaking the silence of the night, a whir of machined noise sounded. A twirling wooden blue box hurtled through the night sky, wisps of transparent gas hardly visible as the box streaked through the sky. Almost as instantly as the box had appeared, it vanished as it fell down to earth's wooded surface.

The doors to the box opened with an eerily quick screech, and a tall, thin man leaned out to take a look down. His brown eyes widened impressively as the surface of the lake became clearer and clearer, and hesitantly, he darted back into the main control room of the apparent Time and Relative Dimensions in Space, or TARDIS, if you'd fancy an alias.

The blue box shook with a terrible groan. The man inside had swung the wooden doors shut, stuck a grayish beam of some sort in his teeth, and was weirdly holding onto the control table with both his hands and feet. With a triumphant yell, the tall man leaped from the control panel and let the box itself tumble down quickly, yet safely, to the earth's surface. The insides of the TARDIS trembled and quaked; a few parts of the coral-like desktop managed to crumble from their posts, tumbling down to the floor of the machine. Disappointedly the man once again placed his large hands on the controls, flipped a few random switches, and pulled back a small lever, which amusingly took much effort.

"Allons-y!" Came the wily cry, followed by a few grunts as the TARDIS fell down onto the earth's surface. It fell down through many great oak branches, breaking any sort of natural plant in its way. No windows broke in the TARDIS' fall from the skies, but strangely, the insides of the time traveling machine seemed to teem with paranormal light. In some sort of daze the man rose to his feet, dusting his hands off, before quickly crumbling down to the cold floor of the room. In an imperative manner, the lights in the room dimmed respectfully, and all was silent.

The being came to hours later. The lights in the TARDIS had returned, though only faintly, and the pale gray light of dawn shone through the clean windows of the box. Grumbling to himself in an inaudible fashion he wearily rose his hand up to his head to scratch his wild, soft brown hair, but found nothing but a soft path of fur. Instantly he has up on his feet-err, paws-and rushed towards the nearest mirror. Funny, I remembered being taller than this, he thought as he scoured the room for a reflective object.

In a matter of minutes he had found a reflecting mirror that was at his height. The former human was shocked to see his strong-jawed bone structure had vanished, and was replaced by a neatly shaped cheek adorned with brown, striped fur, and a muzzle instead of a flat human face. "I'm a _cat_!" He exclaimed with an almost child-like amusement, and in morbid curiosity turned aside to take a peek at the rest of his body. He was evidently a tabby cat, hence the many mottled black stripes that laced over his brown coat, and a long, whippy tail poked out from behind his hindquarters.

"Blimey, I don't think I've ever been a felidae before," the feline said in daft mirth. "I've only recalled looking human; never any other sort of alien or animal or parasi-oh, you know what I mean, don't you, reflection?" The tabby tom crowed to the mirror, his pale amber eyes gleaming in glee. "I think we should take a look outside - where there's forest, there's wildlife."

It took some time before the bold cat had managed to open the doors to the TARDIS. It took long enough trying to find the right button to press on the control panel without accidentally hitting another with his clumsy hind-paws, which he still felt aloof upon, dawdling over himself every other heartbeat. When he stepped out of the blue box's ajar wooden doors, he was temporarily blinded by the proud sunlight which was drawling down from above the foliage.

Merrily the cat strode down and leaped onto the trampled sprouts of red bracken and crushed brush. He without hesitation lifted his head up and took a large whiff of the forest. "No human's stepped here for a long while!" He said in astonishment, peering around the undergrowth with interested manners. "But there are lots of animals here," he concluded, his fuzzy brow furrowing in thoughtfulness.

He began to stalk through the undergrowth, his brown tabby pelt blending in perfectly with the many patches of thorny brambles and shaggy hazel bushes. After what seemed like only mere heartbeats he found the scent of a vole. In fear of interfering with the wildlife here, and giving them a surprise by leaping up to them and questioning them as their predator, a felidae, he decided to call out to the vole.

"Little vole?" He called almost sheepishly, his neat ears flicking in delight; he was speaking to a vole! "I know you're there," he called a bit more softly, soothing his accented tone so that it was comfortable and welcoming to any critter. He stood still for a bit before continuing. "I'm the Doctor, and I mean no harm to you, I just want to ask you a few questions." The Doctor tried again. A crestfallen expression fell upon the feline's features.

Impatiently he shuffled his dark paws over the messy forest floor, unable to control the constant twitching of his black-tipped tail, and uncontrollable to the incomputable wincing of his pale amber eyes. Just as the Doctor was about to turn tail and leave, a small, fuzzy brown head popped out from the undergrowth. Its beady brown eyes narrowed slightly at the Doctor, as if it were considering running from its predator.

Before the vole was able to lunge back into its hiding spot, the Doctor spotted it. "Oh, hello! I'm the Doctor. I somehow crashed here on my time machine and turned into a cat - so I mean you no harm!" He said in a warm tone of voice, his eyes sparkling in honesty. The little critter seemed to buy his act of warmth and leaped out of the bracken, its tiny, plump body blending in well with the foliage behind it.

"You're not like the other killers around here," the vole squeaked. The Doctor silently yelled to himself in delight when the vole opened its mouth to chatter back; he really was communicating with a rodent! But, at the vole's last words, he stopped his delighted venting. "Killers?" He asked, his broad head tilting to the side. "There are cats that scourge this forest. They kill innocent animals and bring their bodies back to their camp to gloat over their victory," the rodent's tone was painfully sour, causing the Doctor to flinch very slightly. "Maybe I can get a word to them?" he tried, flashing a hopeful look towards his conversational vole.

"You can try," groaned the vole. "They send out parties of variously-colored cats at dawn, when the sun shines highest, and nightfall. You can try to coax them then," said the morsel. Thoughtfully the Doctor let his sandy tongue press against his upper layer of teeth, now fangs, and raised himself to his flat paws. "I'll try!" he chirped, letting his wiry tail lift up into the air. The Doctor swung around and threw a comment over his shoulder, "Keep your eyes peeled. I don't want to see you dead before I get to even see these killers."

The Doctor had roused around the forest for a few hours now - no sign of feline activity. He had heard a few voices every so often, presumably the little morsels hiding in the brush, trying to take cover as the Doctor strode by them. Distinctively he didn't like roaming around and finding nothing. His patience was being driven from him. In spite of his driven patience, every time he felt the need to return to his TARDIS, he was intrigued by the beauty of the hanging vines roping from the oak trees, or perhaps persuaded to stay on track as he saw pretty patches of jasmine or stinging nettle bouncing up from the soil.

The Doctor was leaping up a slope dappled with patches of bright green bushes and shrubs, skirting the edges of mighty red oak trees. This forest was a beauty, truly, and had the Doctor trapped in a normal paradox; not one of time vortexes and endless catapulting through various dimensional universes. Just as he was about to leap over a fallen, mossy sorrel tree, he heard a growl from behind him. "Who are you, and what are you doing on ThunderClan territory?"

* * *

Dun-dun-dun. This is my first FanFiction, and one of my first stories. I don't write often, so it may be a little bit rusty and under-experienced. But, I tried! Doctor Who and Warriors are my favorite fandoms, and I decided to combine them both to make me feel good; and hopefully make my readers feel good, too! I'm also sorry that this chapter is rather short, I promise the next chapter will be longer!


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor quickly turned tail, his amber eyes widened to the size of the moon. Through the shifting shadows in the forest, he could see a large figure lingering towards him, its vibrant amber eyes lit ablaze in a manner of protection and inquisition.

"Shall I ask again?" Came the gruff comment, obviously emitting from the large feline that stalked towards the Doctor. "No, no," the Doctor quickly stuttered, allowing the thick, short fur on his spine to ruffle up in what he felt as alarm. "I heard your question. My name's the Doctor, and I really don't know why I landed up here! I was flying around in my TARDIS until strangely something wrong occurred and I tumbled down from the skies into this forest. I turned into a cat, which is also something that has set me off today. Oh, and what's this ThunderClan you speak of? I've nev-" A fuzzy tail was quickly stuffed into the Doctor's yapping maw.

"Quiet!" Snapped the intimidating feline. "It's bad enough having an intruder. Better yet a cat who can't seem to keep his mouth shut for five heartbeats!" Solemnly the Doctor kept his quiet and discreetly spit the fluffy tail of another cat out of his mouth. In a disgusted fashion he flicked his tongue over his thin lips, trying to rid the strands of soft fur from his coarse tongue.

"Stoatflight," instructed the larger feline, turning towards the cat whom had stuffed his tail into the Doctor's mouth to quiet him, "question him. I'm taking the rest of the patrol to find what's causing that terrible stench," hissed the largest cat. It was painfully obvious that this cat was a high authority, or at least the leader of the patrol.

With a tart grimace, the Doctor scrunched up the bridge of his nose. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he grunted before turning to the ginger-and-white cat dubbed as Stoatflight. "So, where to, Stoatflight? I'm interested in hearing about this ThunderClan of yours! I find things I never knew before astounding; I usually know about everything. I'm very clever, you see, so I should be able to even name all the constellatio-" Once again, the Doctor was cut off as the quiet feline slapped his tongue over his lips. Indignantly the Doctor spit his tail out. "What did I do this time!"

"Meowing your tail off, that's what." Retorted Stoatflight in a daft stature of amusement. "What exactly are you doing in ThunderClan's territory? Usually loners stay near the horseplace; we don't find many no-Clanners here often." Stoatflight informed, his ginger head tilting to the side.

It was painfully apparent that Stoatflight was a much kinder soul than the mighty brute who had caught sight of the Doctor at first. Politely returning the kind, calmed atmosphere, the Doctor rolled back on his lean haunches and faced the ginger-and-white felidae. "Well, as I said before, I didn't come from this land. I came from the skies," the Doctor said. He craned his light brown head up to the sky, which was barely visible through the thick canopies of the great oak trees surrounding the two tomcats. "I was traveling in my TARDI-oh, you don't know what a TARDIS is. Well, a TARDIS is a Time and Relative Dimensions in Space, or basically, a time machine. I come from Gallifrey from the constellation of Kasteborous. I crashed in this forest not long ago, and I've been seeking for some kind of help. I found a vole earlier who I had a nice little chat with, and he warned me about some type of terrible creature that slaughtered all of the poor critters living in the undergrowth."

After the Doctor had finished his agonizingly long statement, Stoatflight was staring at him as if he had grown two heads - which could happen, surprisingly. Stoatflight shook his head, trying to focus his amber gaze on the Doctor. "So. . . you're not from the horseplace?" he asked stupidly.

"Obviously not," the Doctor implied. ". . . And you spoke to a vole?" Stoatflight's amber eyes were glinting in what seemed like worry for the Doctor, as if he had some sort of serious mental ailment that had done so much to make him hallucinate and dream up a talking vole. "Of course! A friendly fellow he was; I don't understand why he'd be so jumpy at the sight of a cat. They aren't exactly flourishing in these types of terrains," the Doctor pointed out, looking up around them, and at the thick undergrowth. "At least not in my own opinion; you and your ThunderClan's opinion may vary upon that."

Stoatflight flinched. The other tom opened his maw to argue, but soon clamped it shut when the Doctor opened his own mouth again to speak. "Anyways, what is this ThunderClan you felines speak about? I've heard it an overwhelming amount of ti-well, I've been repeating it myself, but still! I'd like to find out what it is; it truly does sound fascinating." The Doctor mused, turning away from Stoatflight briefly, gazing about the green foliage about them.

"ThunderClan is a group of cats who help each other to survive," Stoatflight said bluntly. The Doctor emitted a whiny and annoyed grumble. "Oh, more detail, would you?" He dictated. "It's ever so dull to only say a few measly words about something that's probably so large and important!"

More enthusiastic now, Stoatflight straightened his stature and gleamed at the Doctor. "ThunderClan is a group consisting of cats of many allegiances, ages, and pelts," Stoatflight started. "We live on the lake, surrounded by the three other Clans: ShadowClan, WindClan, and RiverClan. We all strive to be the strongest Clan and have the most prey in our territory." Stoatflight cocked his head. "Obviously, ThunderClan lives in the forest, ShadowClan also lives in a forest, but their forest is peaty and consists of mainly pine or fir trees."

The Doctor already had an intimate interest in what Stoatflight was informing him of. A Clan built of cats - who'd have thought it! The Doctor knew about the Sisters of Plentitude, or the human felines, as many referred to them as; human cats who lived as a sort of organization - but never had he expected actual domestic cats to be bound together into a Clan of some sort!

"WindClan lives lakeward of us. They live on the moorland. RiverClan is way across the lake. If you stare, you can hardly manage to make out the tall willow trees that mottle the area." Stoatflight finished, puffing out his white chest to inhale sharply, and drew out the long, wound breath after the Doctor had finished clicking his tongue in a distinctively thoughtful way. Stoatflight turned towards the pale brown tabby, a baffled expression painted onto his facial features. "How come I'm telling all this to you?"

"Oh, I have one of those faces." The Doctor laughed. "So, four Clans, all living together on a lake? Why not just join together and share the land? I'm sure it would cause less turmoil and such?" The Doctor commented. To his own surprise, Stoatflight retaliated with a great grunt. "The Warrior Code tells us to remain as four. It was always like this; the Clans of ancient fought to protect their borders, and the Clans of the present still do today." Stoatflight growled, the ginger fur along his spine clumping up in a fiery fashion.

"All right, it was only a suggestion!" The Doctor whined in mock hurt. "No need to get your tail in a knot," he snuffed to himself before beginning to stalk along the undergrowth. Stoatflight followed him, his amber eyes furrowed into a manner of seniority. "Aren't you going to leave?"

"Nope," the Doctor chirped, his voice so highly pitched that you could mistake him for a chattering starling. "I said I was interested in finding out about your ThunderClan. It's something new! Something I've never encountered or even heard of before! I'm not going to let an opportunity like this slide!" He squeaked. "It's like that creature I found on Midnight," he mused, even though this band of felines was very different from an intelligent and eerie creature such as the Midnight menace.

"Then at least show some dignity!" Stoatflight growled, leaping in front of the Doctor with a stern facial expression. "This is our territory. We won't kindly respond to cats treading around the land, scaring all the prey away because he wants to explore!" "Then take me to your base, or camp, or where ever you cats reside!" The Doctor cried. "It's not exactly common for me to be blundering around a place infested by alie-well, yes, it is quite common for me. Scratch that statement," the Doctor muttered to himself before looking up to Stoatflight. "At least lead me to a place where I won't disturb your prey."

Stoatflight led the Doctor through a winding path consisting of many bramble thickets, bushes, and thorny stems that lay on their path. It all led down to Stoatflight turning around and throwing a comment over his shoulder, "Be sure to flatten your ears in the thorn tunnel. It's not pleasant having those awful thorns piercing your tender ear tips."

The Doctor's lips were brought down into a wary frown. He was still alien to the method of controlling the body of a feline, rather than a Time Lord's body; he was still trying to manage only have one heart! Really, how did these things live like this? It's like having only two le-wait, he normally had two legs. Scratch that, too. Did this unseen regeneration change his mind? Quite possibly.

As the Doctor rambled about how cross he was about not having his normal characteristics, he was unwary of Stoatflight disappearing into a darkly hued thorn tunnel that was crushed between two large holly bushes. Just as he had finished venting about how stupid he felt about controlling a cat's body did he notice the absence of his guide and acquaintance.

"Stoatflight?" The Doctor called. There was no reply. The Doctor tried to scent the ginger-and-white feline, but instead found many scents that were somewhat familiar to him. Carrying a now morbid curiosity, the Doctor inched towards the thorn tunnel. There was a wall of thin vines weaving down in front of it, which as you crawled deeper, extended into a compact tunnel that would surely lead into the base of ThunderClan.

The Doctor did just as Stoatflight instructed, tucking his ears down so that they wouldn't scrape against the many thorns on the upper roof of the tunnel, as he crawled through. He felt some thorns prick his pelt, not so badly as to draw blood, but just enough to cause the Time Lord discomfort. He fidgeted, accidentally jabbing a thorn into his side, making the Doctor hiss instinctively from the sharp wince of pain.

After a few moments of his painful bout with the thorn tunnel he plummeted forward into an open clearing. All around him were the distinguishable scent of cats. Almost warily the Doctor quirked a brow, and gazed about the place. The walls of the apparent camp were carved in. This was most likely an abandoned quarry, left to rot many, many years ago. The Doctor shifted his gaze to the west, where he saw a large, mossy oak tree laying about fifteen feet away. It had become one with the ground, some of its torn, muddied roots stuck to the ground, and looked untreatable from being stuck there for many years. He caught sight of multiple patches of green moss tucked away under the slim branches.

The Doctor was caught by surprise when Stoatflight reappeared in front of him, a larger ginger tom accompanying him. "Heavyfox, this is the cat that Prickletail informed you of," Stoatflight told the older brute. "The talkative one." The large ginger feline examined the Doctor, looking him up and down with an intelligent yellow gaze. "Inform Ravenstar," Heavyfox ordered Stoatflight, who respectively dipped his head to the large cat and sped off to a tumble of crumbled rocks that led up to a crack in the walls of the sand-colored stone quarry.

"I am Heavyfox, deputy of ThunderClan," the large ginger tom told the Doctor. "And who might you be?" "I'm the Doctor. I'd think that after all the gossip that's apparently been going around that some cat might at least have the decency to remember my own addressing," the Doctor scoffed, but only for a few brief heartbeats. Heavyfox didn't exactly seem like the type to be a very easygoing and lighthearted soul, so the Doctor slowly receded back into a cool and calmed position.

"So, your ThunderClan is a clan of felines? What do you do? Sit on your hindquarters and lick your fur all day?" The Doctor asked. Stoatflight hadn't described the daily life of the Clan cats as the Doctor had hungered for. As for as the Doctor knew all these cats did was dub themselves as a colony of feral pupils.

"No," the behemoth ginger deputy growled. "The Clans are not lazy like kittypets, nor do they sit on their tails all day." Heavyfox meowed defensively, his pale chest fur puffing out in fierce exasperation. "We fight for our territory and our borders. Our neighbor Clans want our dense forest; they want our prey. We cannot allow them to have any of it." The ThunderClan deputy turned tail, his hackles risen in vexation.

"Fight?" The Doctor echoed mindlessly as the massive ginger feline dispersed from him. Left to rock back and forth on his lean haunches the Doctor flicked his light salmon tongue over the break of his thin black lip. All around him, cats were filing out of the thorn tunnel that the Doctor had excessively muttered with an ill temper of, and some were lounging about the quarry, giving each other a thorough washing.

After a few long moments of waiting the Doctor rose to his paws, balancing eerily on both his front and back paws. Not yet had he mastered the technique of treading on four paws. He strolled amiably towards a small tortoiseshell cat, obviously female, seeing as tortoiseshell toms were rare to see; her face also defined feminine detail, hinting to the Doctor that the cat he was to confront was female.

"Excuse me, miss," the Doctor greeted. He was quickly acknowledged without hesitation by the she-cat who lifted her head and let her tongue recede back into her maw. "You wouldn't mind explaining why you all fight for your borders? I've heard from Stoatflight and your deputy about borders, but why can't you all just settle on an agreement and share the forest?"

The lithe tortoiseshell she-cat gently slid up from her soft white belly fur. "It's part of our culture," she told him kindly. Obviously she was not acting as alien to the Doctor has Heavyfox had, much to the curious Doctor's delight. "Our ancient ancestor set these borders, and we have been living by it for many, many moons. StarClan set down rules that all the Clans follow: the Warrior Code, and it explains that we must defend our own territory, and let the other Clans defend their own."

"What's StarClan? Some sort of wistful organization you all adore?" The Doctor guessed. Unsurprisingly the dappled feline's features flattened into a soft frown. "StarClan is the clan of ancient warriors that watch over us in Silverpelt," she corrected. "When a warrior dies, they go to StarClan and watch over their Clanmates from the stars."

Of course, the Doctor thought. Hence the prefix, _"Star"_, this was like heaven and hell for these Clan cats. "What about if the cat didn't live a good life; didn't obey your Warrior Code. What happens then?" He inquired, lifting a 'brow' in anticipation for her reply.

"No cat knows." The she-cat meowed quietly. "Though this was a tale told to me in the nursery, my mother told me that all cats who were evil and bad were rebuked by StarClan and sent somewhere terrible. No cat knows where they go, or if they have a chance to return to StarClan after banished."

The Doctor cocked his finely-shaped head to the side. "So, StarClan only takes the good warriors, and force away those who have done bad things?" The tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat nodded. "Thanks, err, what's your name?" "Fernsplash," the pretty she-cat purred before returning to her bath, not before throwing a kind, welcoming look at the Doctor through her brilliant green eyes.

Now confident in what the Clan was circulated by and what their purpose in life was, the Doctor padded away from his new friend Fernsplash. It was just in time to see Stoatflight emerge from a large crack in the face of the quarry, a sleek-furred black cat on his tail. They hopped down a tumbled pile of sandy-cream stones before approaching the large tom known as Heavyfox, meowing quietly, before they all turned to face the Doctor.

The Doctor pulled a kind, cheeky smile as the three tomcats approached him, equally returning their earnest stares. "Doctor," the black tom beckoned. "State your intention." The Doctor turned to Stoatflight, who urged him to answer the intimidating black feline's question: this must be Ravenstar, the head of ThunderClan.

Out of mere instinct the Doctor dipped his head slightly before opening his mouth to speak. "Curiosity, fun, and something else I can't put my paw on," he crowed, his long, winding tail curling along his back in glee.

Ravenstar growled and stalked up to the Doctor. The old tom's shoulders rose and fell equally, in spite of the creak of bones that the Doctor could easily detect, and ceased when Ravenstar's white-tinted muzzle was stuck up in the Doctor's own. "This isn't an era of fun and games," Ravenstar said sternly. "Our cats have no time for some random loner to be bouncing around the stone hollow. They must focus on their duties rather than watch an energized tabby leap from wall to wall searching for an adventure."

"All right, all right." The Doctor muttered. "I couldn't help the fact my TARDIS decided to crash here and I happened to turn into a cat." Ravenstar was being far too alien towards the Doctor, in his own opinion; the grumpy old leader probably had a thorn in his pelt. _Poor thing. Probably can't even tell when it's dusk or dawn._

When the Doctor had finished explaining about himself and where had come from, all three of the cats before him, with the exception of Stoatflight, had their ample jaws dropping in astonishment. "So, you weren't a cat before now?" Heavyfox inquired, pressing his large form next to Ravenstar's own frail one. "What were you?"

"A Time Lord!" The Doctor insisted. "A species who strangely looks almost identical to humans. Except we have two hearts, they've only got one." "What's a human?" Ravenstar asked. The skinny black tom had been easily hesitant to believe anything the Doctor had explained during his interview with the three ThunderClan cats.

"Oh, tall things. Much taller than a cat. They have flat faces, hair atop their hea-" "Twolegs!" Heavyfox gasped. "You're a Twoleg?" The large ginger tom asked, his green eyes widening in surprise. The Doctor mentally massaged his temple. "No, as I said before," he said sharply, "I'm a Time Lord from Gallifrey. We only resemble the humans, or Twolegs."

"So you looked like them, but aren't one of them?" Stoatflight butted in, suddenly intrigued in the situation. The Doctor sighed. Truly, how hard was it to understand that a Time Lord isn't a human? Let alone that he was turned into a cat after a bout with the TARDIS. Besides, the Doctor knew that he would regenerate back into his former self soon; he didn't want to believe it would have to be through death, or that he would lose his handsomely structured face in the regernation. He truly hoped he would shift back into his former Time Lord self within the next few days. These ThunderClan cats weren't especially welcoming towards him - with the exception of Fernsplash.

"Yes," The Doctor grumbled. "I _resembled_ a Twoleg, but was not one." "So you were a twoleg kit?" Heavyfox asked, and had the Doctor's face screw up in distress. "No," he growled. "I was a_ Time Lord_! Nothing related to a Twoleg!"

The next few minutes the four toms spent bickering over Twolegs and Heavyfox deciding to guess that the Doctor was everything_ but_ what he had defined himself to be: a Time Lord.

It was a young gray she-cat who saved the Doctor from the three's ridiculous outbursts. She had ran up to Ravenstar, her amber eyes widened, and feathery gray pelt ruffled up in alarm. "Ravenstar," she panted, seeming to be out of breath. "You must alert the Clan! Sorrelflight told me to alert you! Cloverstar is marching towards the camp with three of her warriors!"

* * *

**The second chapter is up! I'm sorry that it took so long to put up. I had half of the darn chapter finished and I forgot about it due to a large science test I had on Thursday! I swore to myself I'd finish it on Friday since I got home at 12, and finished the last of the chapter in under two hours. Thank you to that kind soul that reviewed my story. ^^ It really did push me to finish the chapter before the weekend! Be sure to check back next Friday for the next chapter: Chapter 3! **


	3. Chapter 3

_Cloverstar is marching towards the camp with two of her warriors!_

"Heavyfox, alert the warriors. Stoatflight, the elders and queens." Ravenstar strictly ordered. The frail black tom turned away from the Doctor. "Weedshade! Hickorydust!" Ravenstar called, his loud yowl echoing through the walls of the sandy quarry. "Fetch Seedfeather and her hunting patrol. Bring them back to camp." Two muscular warriors, both dark, dusky brown tabbies, leapt out of the shadows of the large walls of stone. They matched each other perfectly, except that one of them had vibrant amber eyes, while the other had dark green.

Both toms tumbled towards the thorn tunnel, filing out next to each other, and thrummed out of the hollow. Heavyfox had vanished into the shadows, while Stoatflight burrowed under the boughs of a lanky beech tree, enforced with honeysuckle, and reappeared heartbeats later with a fluffy tom with a patchy brown-and-white tabby pelt, and a wise amber stare. The elder was left to squabble in the heat of the rush of adrenaline in the quarry as Stoatflight abandoned him and rushed into a thickly woven bramble bush with thick roots for strong reinforcement. There was some excited squealing, and finally, Stoatflight reappeared from the protected den. Swarming his paws were three small kittens, their mewls audible to even the Doctor, who was standing fox-lengths away.

"Oh, come on, Stoatflight! Let us come out with you! We'll pummel those WindClan fiends until they've got nothing but scraps of fur left!" Yowled one of the kits, a small auburn-colored tom-kit. "Yeah!" Agreed the second, a brownish-gray tabby who was trailing on the red-colored kit's tail, acting as if it were a snake. "We'll fight them off for the Clan! No cat would dare mess with me!" "Right, Mousekit," sneered the third kit, a pale tortoiseshell she-kit. "That's why that leaf decided to land on your head and sent you squealing like a scaredy mouse across the hollow!"

"Furball!" Yowled Mousekit before launching himself onto his sister. The two small felines tumbled back into the nursery, their russet-hued littermate scurrying after them, exclaiming that Dawnkit was going to rip Mousekit's pelt to shreds. The Doctor found amusement in the three kits' energy, a warm smile painting onto his white muzzle, which was sadly soon whipped away as Stoatflight reappeared at his side. "You'll need to move," his friend instructed. "You're blocking the camp entrance."

"Oh, sorry," the Doctor apologized before wedging to his left. "Who's this Cloverstar that young cat informed you all of? Someone of importance, I'm guessing?" The Doctor presumed, turning to Stoatflight for a direct answer to his question. "Cloverstar is the leader of our neighboring Clan, WindClan. Too proud for their pelts, they are," Stoatflight grumbled. "I can only imagine what Cloverstar wants. She's every so egocentric."

A stiffening excitement built up in the Doctor's chest as he heard a rustling in the thorns. Out stepped a small, lithe she-cat with a pale, sandy-brown pelt, with pale paws, and pale splashes stretching over her tawny-colored pelt. "Ravenstar," the she-cat yowled, summoning the larger black tom towards her. "We must speak," she said in a hoarse growl, her pale green eyes reading nothing but humorless demeanor. "In your den, preferably, where there are no extra ears to eavesdrop on us."

Very hesitantly did Ravenstar turn around and march up to his den. Cloverstar's warriors stayed behind, glaring warily around them at the gathering ThunderClan cats. These cats were much thinner and lesser in size than the bulky cats of ThunderClan. The Doctor could only imagine how massive the ShadowClan cats must be after Stoatflight's descriptive explanation of all four Clans when he had first brought him to the camp.

The Doctor heard the scrabbling of the lightly hued stones being scattered upon, and threw a look over his lean shoulder. He saw the skinny black tail of Ravenstar disappear into the crack in the face of the sandy stone hollow, Cloverstar quietly following. What could the stern she-cat desire? Territory, prey?

"Has she done this before? March up to your camp like it's no cat's business?" He asked Stoatflight. The small ginger-and-white tom shook his broad head, and informatively flicking his ears, summoned the Doctor to a less clustered area. "Cloverstar doesn't come to the camp often, but she's done it before," Stoatflight muttered under his breath. "She's got such a large sense of paranoia. The last time she came in was when I was an apprentice, the first one while I was a kit. She can't seem to defend her own Clan without having us help her with every possible task," The ThunderClan cat growled. "She holds no honor in her allegiance. Stupid rabbit-eater, she is, as well as her warriors."

The Doctor screwed up his nose. He knew that even with himself here he couldn't mend the cold rivalry between the Clans. "Are all the Clans this way?" He murmured to himself. "Like what?" Stoatflight grunted, turning on the Doctor in a brisk heartbeat. "Oh, nothing," the Doctor replied. "Just that you all seem to like ruffling each others' pelts for a good bash of pride." He muttered under his breath, inaudible to Stoatflight or any other Clan cat.

Now on the wrong side the Doctor redirected his thoughts to one of positive property. First off: he needed to solve the dispute occurring with Cloverstar and Ravenstar, and why she had so rudely marched into the ThunderClan camp. "Does Ravenstar ever tell his warriors about his talks with Cloverstar?" He found himself asking Stoatflight after some long, winding moments. "No," Stoatflight replied. "He only speaks with his senior warriors about that. Cats like Heavyfox and Prickletail are the cats he summons most often into his den."

"A senior warrior?" The Doctor asked. "Cats who are able to swap to the elders' den, but have carried on with their warrior duties," Stoatflight explained. "I'm not old enough to be one of them. My father is a senior warrior though. Well," Stoatflight leaned back on his hindpaws for support as he rocked, "not exactly a warrior. More like a deputy."

The Doctor seemed astonished. Stoatflight's father was Heavyfox? "Heavyfox is your father?" He gasped, quickly switching his pale amber gaze from Stoatflight to Heavyfox, who was ambling about on the Highledge, waiting anxiously for Ravenstar to reappear from his den. Now that he put some attention into it, he noticed the similar ginger tint in both of their pelts. Of course, Heavyfox had no white underfur, but they shared the exact same shade of ginger.

"That's uncanny," commented the Doctor. "He's such a serious cat, while you're. . . " he drawled off as Stoatflight shot him an offended glare. "Sorry," the Doctor whispered. "It's just unexpected: you two being related. Do you have any siblings?" The Doctor inquired, peering around the camp, trying to find a pelt similar to Stoatflight's.

"No," Stoatflight sighed. "I was an only-kit. My mother was always very sick." "Who's your mother?" "A StarClan warrior now. Her name isn't important now that she's no longer with us." Retorted a suddenly sour-tongued Stoatflight, not daring to meet the Doctor's pitying gaze. "I'm sorry," the Doctor said before awkwardly shifting onto his flank. He hadn't meant to bring any sort of unease onto Stoatflight, and had accidentally shoved an entire red oak tree of malaise onto the poor tomcat's shoulders.

"I'm just going to. . . ah. . go this way." The Doctor muffled as he rose to his paws. He hadn't had time to take a stern look at the WindClan cats, and was fastened on earning himself a general understanding of the differences between ThunderClan and WindClan.

. . .

Night fell quicker than a cat can say "mouse." The Doctor had taken notice of the lean frame of Cloverstar taking her leave from the edges of the stone hollow, sharing a cold good-bye with Ravenstar before being led out by Hickorydust and one other ThunderClan warrior the Doctor just couldn't name. He had been stuck in the forest for an entire day now, crashing the TARDIS at sun-up and being taken into their camp as prisoner, as he deemed it be.

Though, in spite of his definition as prisoner, cats were unexpectedly friendly towards him. They didn't act strange, with the exception of a few, and acted as if he were just a casual ThunderClan cat. The Doctor did enjoy the attention he earned by sitting alone and looking desperate for conversation. He had spoken to Fernsplash again, and the friendly cat had offered him a bite of her vole. The Doctor had felt a queasy feeling knot in his belly as he recognized the vole's define facial features.

The poor vole. He deserved to live, he had thought. The vole he had spoken to in the morning had apparently been caught by a hunting patrol and brought back to the Clan to feast on, and Fernsplash was eating him. He had numbly treaded away from Fernsplash, his face solemn, thinking only of the vole he had spoken to hours before.

After silently mourning for his lost friend the Doctor had settled in a dark patch of shadow underneath the cliff face of the hollow. He had longed for a conversation with Stoatflight, but the ginger-and-white warrior was nowhere in sight. The last he had seen of his ally was Heavyfox speaking to him. Stoatflight had left camp with a few other cats on his tail. The Doctor presumed he had taken out a patrol to review the borders or hunt.

Now, the Doctor focused his train of thought and told himself to focus on Cloverstar. What had she wanted? She had been so stern and nonchalant when he had first seen her. She obviously was not seeking any sort of warm welcome with open arms, nor was she expecting to be confronted by angry ThunderClan warriors, he mentally noted. Her fur was smoothed as she stepped through the thorn tunnel, pale gaze piercing and stone-hard. Had she come with a warning?

Don't be silly, he thought. A reasonable person-well, cat-wouldn't stroll into an enemy's campgrounds and blurt out their plans. Did she have a plea for some sort of alliance, or even a consideration for joining the two Clans together? The Doctor shook away the thought. Every cat he had confronted about the Clans joining together as one had given him such a look of surprise and foreboding that he knew that a Clan leader would hold no difference.

On and on he thought. Eventually, his vision had dimmed to one of a dark canvas, and had mindlessly allowed his head to fall onto his soft, fuzzy paws. He had drifted off of the subject of Cloverstar's arrival, and was planning ways on how to eavesdrop on Ravenstar, as he had been told by Stoatflight that the leaders of a Clan normally spoke to his or her senior warriors for guidance or ideas of sorts.

Maybe. . . maybe I can follow Ravenstar out when he calls his senior warriors out with him? That'll give me a time to listen to their conversation. You know, I could also just get up when the moon is highest and listen to Ravenstar ramble to himself in his den. . . maybe. . and maybe. .

The Doctor managed to ease himself into a calming rest. He had a dark, dreamless slumber, his mind displaying only an ebony, almost unconscious template of black. Out in the gale of night, he had curled up under a stone ledge, his slim tail curling up over his dark black nose, his own thoughts lulling him into sleep.

The Doctor woke to a paw jabbing him in the side. His mind began to notice the growing noises about him. The Doctor concentrated on opening his ears to the world, and awakening his paws from their tickling sleep. It took a few moments before he saw a familiar ginger-and-white head in his slurred vision. "What are you, a dormouse?" Stoatflight sneered. "Get up. Heavyfox is sending out the dawn patrols."

The Doctor couldn't help but release a morbid groan of unhappiness. His back ached, and his paws felt as if they had been molded into the ground like mossy roots. He fidgeted like an unpleased kit for a few moments, childishly making excuses not to get up before he was nosed up by Stoatflight.

"Stop acting like a kit and get up," Stoatflight grumbled. "No cat gives a mouse's tail if you don't want to get up; around here, we get up at sunrise to be put on patrol." There was a teasing trill in the ginger-and-white tabby's voice, as if he were taunting the Doctor until he stopped flinching and woke up fully.

"You need to eat a fresh mouse. It'll flush your senses." Said Stoatflight thoughtfully, calling over a plump, long-haired she-cat. "Fuzzybird, can you fetch me a mouse from the fresh-kill pile?" He asked her nicely. Fuzzybird nodded her head, looking from Stoatflight to the Doctor. "For him, I presume?" She queried, using her tail to direct it towards the Doctor.

Stoatflight awkwardly shifted his paw in the stubby grass which sent Fuzzybird off, purring to herself about toms. "Well, she was friendly," the Doctor laughed, sensing the awkward aura bursting off of Stoatflight's pelt. "Obviously likes to rile your pelt." "Says the cat who can't mind his own business!" Stoatflight sourly growled.

"Blimey." The Doctor murmured. He had truly hurt Stoatflight the previous night? "Look, mate, I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings last night about kindred. I didn't know your mother was-" "Dead?" Stoatflight broke the Doctor's apology with his own mewl. "Yes, that," said the Doctor uneasily.

"It's all right," Stoatflight sighed. "I never did take Goldenleaf's death very well. It wasn't a pleasant one." "Now there's a name!" The Doctor exclaimed, relieved that Stoatflight had done so much as to say his mother's alias. Stoatflight couldn't help but have a smile stretch onto his white muzzle at the Doctor's hilarity and both the toms shared a few mews of apology and forgiving.

And just at that moment, the most tender moment shared between the Doctor and Stoatflight, Fuzzybird popped in, a plump white rodent in her muzzle. "As close as you two are," the fluffy she-cat mused, shifting her amber gaze from the chuckling Stoatflight to the stupidly grinning Doctor, "I can't see you two as a good couple."

Stoatflight turned back to Fuzzybird, his green eyes widened, expressing a distinctive look of vain surprise. "Oi, mate," the Doctor said to Stoatflight, "I can't see us working out very well, either."

Stoatflight pinned his ears back to his head, quietly taking the mouse from Fuzzybird and meowing his thanks. Stoatflight dropped the mouse before the doctor and motioned for the Doctor to eat up. The Doctor disturbedly looked up at his friend, then down to the limp mouse, then back up to Stoatflight. "Eat it?" He mewed hoarsely. "Yes," Stoatflight urged, pushing the mouse forward with a white paw. "How else do you keep living?"

"But. . . it's a mouse!" The Doctor exclaimed. Never before had he tried mouse, and neither did he wish to. "So?" Sniffed Stoatflight. "It's what cats eat. Haven't you ever had mouse?" "No, never have I even thought of eating a mouse!" Cried an indignant Doctor. "Were you a kittypet?" Asked Stoatflight. The ThunderClan warrior seemed to believe that the Doctor was a kittypet and had been feasting on rabbit pellets and soft slop for the most of his life; the Doctor didn't seem like the lazy, stereotypical kittypet that the Clan cats had imaged them to be.

"No." Muttered the Doctor crossly. "I'd thought after explaining it a multitude of times that I was a Time Lord, not a cat, not a Twoleg, not a Monster: a Time Lord." The thickness of the majority of the Clan cats made the Doctor mentally flinch. He knew about thick-headedness, but never before had he met a group of pupils who were so slow to believe anything a stranger told them was true!

When their little bout over the mouse had ended, and in spite of the Doctor's pained hunger, Heavyfox had approached them. He had managed to persuade the Doctor to take his first bite of the mouse, seeing as the Doctor's belly had groaned and grumbled. Surprisingly the Doctor had found some strange liking for the flavor. He did presume it was only his body speaking, not his mind. Whenever he had taken another chomp off of the mouse's carcass, his mind screamed for him to spit it out, but his tongue and belly yowled at him to keep munching until it stopped growling.

Stoatflight had been assigned to a patrol, much to the Doctor's dismay, who quickly volunteered to join his friend on the patrol. Heavyfox was surprised at this and questioned Stoatflight, who asked nicely if the patrol could be a border patrol, so that the Doctor wouldn't scare away any prey if Stoatflight was to lead a late hunt. Heavyfox agreed, and called over two cats, Sorrelflight and her apprentice, Pigeonpaw, whom the Doctor had met the day before after the small fluffy she-cat had rushed into camp and saved him from a mouse-brained bickering with Ravenstar and Heavyfox. Stoatflight nodded to his father and filed out of the thorn tunnel, the Doctor right on his tail.

. . .

After returning to camp with Stoatflight the Doctor noticed some cats mewing brief good-byes to an auburn-colored feline. Her pelt was scented strongly of sweet herbs. "Who's she?" the Doctor asked, whispering into Stoatflight's feathered ears. "That's Rosefeather. She's our Clan medicine cat." Stoatflight answered. "She's leaving for her meeting at the Moonpool."

"What's a Moonpool?" Once again, the Doctor felt as if he had just stumbled into the stone hollow and been confronted by the Clan, bombarding them with premature questions. "The Moonpool is the sacred place where all the medicine cats meet at half-moon," informed Stoatflight. "Rosefeather begins her journey at dusk. She has to be there by moonhigh or else she'll miss the chance to speak with StarClan."

"So the Moonpool is like a church of some sort?" The Doctor guessed. Surely it would be the place where cats would go to worship or praise their ancestor; resembling the churches he had heard off which flourished on every continent, country, and town on earth.

Stoatflight stopped and turned to the Doctor. His face looked confused and lost, as if someone had just stuck a thorn into his hindquarters. "What's a church?" He asked, his short, neat ears flicked back in perplexity. "Never mind the church," the Doctor muttered, suddenly remembering that these were undomesticated cats. They didn't know any human sort of terminology.

Both of the toms silenced themselves as the dark ginger she-cat stopped by them and meowed to them a friendly good-bye. Then she's off, the Doctor thought as the sleek, plumy tail of Rosefeather disappeared through the thorn tunnel.

He noticed Fernsplash, the amiable she-cat he had met the day previous, watching the sleek medicine cat escape from the hollow, a look of concern flashing in her gaze. "What's wrong with Fernsplash?" He asked politely. Stoatflight fixed his gaze on the other tortoiseshell of the Clan, pale green gaze narrowing thoughtfully. "Fernsplash is Rosefeather's sister," the ginger-and-white tabby pointed out. "She's always been wary of her sister leaving on the half-moon."

The Doctor rolled his lean, sleek shoulders in an informal shrug. If Fernsplash was worried for her sister, why not go with her? You shouldn't let such a close ally go without some sort of protection. "Why doesn't Ravenstar allow Fernsplash to go with her, then?" he asked. "Doesn't he want Rosefeather to be safe from the other Clan cats?"

"Medicine cats are much different than warriors." Cut in a light, feminine tone. Both the Doctor and Stoatflight turned around to see a light brown she-cat making her way towards them. "They do not fight. They are away from Clan rivalry, and treat each other as if they were allies." The sleek figure finished, offering a friendly smile to both toms.

"Seedmist," Stoatflight greeted, beckoning to the Doctor to also acknowledge the warrior's arrival. The Doctor bent his head then craned it back up to its original position. Was Seedmist also a medicine cat? Was this how she knew of the path medicine cats obeyed? "Are you also a medicine cat?" The Doctor queried.

"No," Seedmist purred. "I used to be. I was Rosefeather's apprentice for a short time." The she-cat told him, her short tail sweeping across the grassy hollow flooring. "I decided that my destiny was not a medicine cat's," Seedmist said reflectively, "I was meant to be a warrior. I stayed her apprentice long enough to visit the Moonpool once, but, sadly, my carreer as a medicine cat apprentice did not boost off as I had hoped it would. I found more interest in hunting than in shuffling herbs, and fancied fighting over picking juniper berries."

For a moment there was an almost awkward silence shared between the three felines. Then Seedmist turned to the Doctor, who seemed highly interested in her tale. "Why am I telling all this to you?"

Cockily the Doctor threw a glimpse at Stoatflight, who merely puffed up his snowy white cheeks in a chuckle. "I have one of those faces," the Doctor echoed what he had said the sunrise before. Really, was he that open to any sort of conversation? Cats continually strolled up to him and told him about their jobs, their lives, and their daily routines; not even bothering to stop and consider if they were giving away too much information.

After Seedmist shared a parting mewl the Doctor looked up. The sky was tinted a burning, pale red blanket, casting over the treetops where the pale rose canvas churned into a dusty purple. "Is Heavyfox going to send out the evening patrol?" The Doctor heard Stoatflight ask. Turning towards his acquaintance he angled his gaze up to where the sandy-cream rock jolted out of the face of the stone hollow. He could make out the deputy assigning warriors to the final patrol of the day.

"Adderleap, you will lead the dusk patrol," started Heavyfox. "You will take Squirrelnose, Shrewfang, and Flintpaw with you. You four will cover the lakeward patch of territory, ending near the fork of the river at the ends of the WindClan border." The large ginger tom turned to a muscular brown tabby tom whom had a dark brown tom, a regular, mottled brown tom, and a small gray tom rear behind him. Quickly the leader of the patrol, Adderleap, turned to them and mewed a direct order to file out.

As the tails of the first evening patrol vanished through the thorn tunnel Heavyfox began to assign a hunting patrol. "Prickletail will lead the eastern hunting patrol." Heavyfox turned towards the intimating tom whom the Doctor had disliked from the very start of his time with ThunderClan, the massive tabby tom, and picked out two other warriors to join Prickletail on his patrol. As the three warriors left camp, Heavyfox seemed content and scrambled down from the ledge.

"I reckon your patrol went well?" The ginger deputy asked Stoatflight. The other tom nodded in reply, turning towards the Doctor. "Doctor seemed to be very intrigued in the ShadowClan border," he mewed in amusement. "He managed to get a lizard caught on his tail after straying too far over the scentmarker."

The Doctor opened his maw to protest. "I didn't smell it before it was too late!" He said in mock offense, throwing his head back, looking at the small clump of fur missing from his wiry tail. "I didn't feel the lizard get me either until Pigeonpaw decided to point it out! Took a whole minute to get the darn thing off," he muttered, though there was a high-pitched tone of high spirit in his murmuring.

"Did you manage to catch it?" Heavyfox asked. "No, well, I didn't catch it. Stoatflight was able to catch it before it fled back across the border." The Doctor meowed. "It wanted to take a piece of his fur for a prize," Stoatflight chuckled breathlessly, sending both Heavyfox and himself into a fit of laughter.

"Oi! You two! It's not funny!" Cried the Doctor. "Okay, it is funny," he confessed, but not before trying to silence the two by pricking them with his paws. "You two. . . I can see your connection by the way you roll around like mouse-brains." He scoffed, happy that he had used ThunderClan terminology to tease the gaping ThunderClan warriors.

The Doctor strolled away from the two and noticed a dark tabby pelt slipping into the shadows of the bramble thickets near the camp entrance. He recognized the deep, rough voice of Ravenstar, which was aided by a deeper, more powerful tone. He recognized it as Prickletail's, as well as another cat's voice he couldn't name. Ravenstar was slowly striding towards the thorn tunnel, soon vanishing into it, Prickletail and another dark pelt following closely.

That must be Ravenstar and some of his senior warriors! Thought the Doctor. He must be discussing Cloverstar's visit. The Doctor was eager to pry on their conversation, so he quietly hared towards the thorn tunnel, waiting a few distinctively long heartbeats before bustling through and following their slightly distinguishable scent trail. If he was to figure out the disputes between ThunderClan and WindClan, he would have to risk being caught eavesdropping on Ravenstar and his warriors; it was his own passion to be nosy and listen on their plans, wasn't it?

* * *

**Okay. I lied. I'm not waiting until Friday to post this chapter. I had an unimaginable amount of imagination today, and typed up this chapter in under six hours. So. . . I've made the Doctor and Stoatflight a shipping: at least, according to Fuzzybird. Oh, how I love to make funny characters. It fit the atmosphere. No one likes a sober, tender moment without at least some kind of random interference. I'm just going to say Chapter 4 is going to be up in the next four days, as I've drained my mind of inspiration. **


End file.
